Some angels are dangerous, angels of death
They look like old rags and they smell like burnt meth
They’ll watch from above with their squinty, red eyes
They work for the devil, professional spies
They’ll leap down from their perch on a telephone pole
They will land on your chest and they’ll sniff out your soul
And if, in your soul, they smell shame, fear or doubt
They’ll stick in their straw and they’ll suck your soul out
So unless you’re scrubbed clean of such things, I’d advise
You watch out for old rags that have squinty, red eyes.
